Black Ice
by Exophilus
Summary: They never saw it coming. Almost a month after first infection struck Pennsylvania, and to most of the world Green Flu still isn't viewed global threat. Only once the infection shows up in their own backyards do the people start dealing with the problem. Unfortunately, it may already be too late. Features original characters in Lower Mainland area of British Columbia, Canada.


**Nathan Weeds, High School Student and Junior Hockey Player**

"Due to the increasing number of those infected with Green Flu in the Lower Mainland area, public schools have been ordered to close in the area as part of the Pandemic Response Framework," the well-dressed woman on the television said, a serious look on her face. "An official with the British Columbia's Ministry of Education stated that this temporary closure would remain in effect until such a time as they were certain that the situation was under control. The closure is affecting the following districts; 33…"  
It was at this moment that eighteen year-old Nathan Weeds lost interest in the broadcast. He had heard from the news program what he had wanted to hear, and nothing else was of particular interest to the young man.

News of the deadly Green Flu was of no particular interest to Nathan. He was certain that it was just another pandemic scare that the media was focusing on for a story. Like the West Nile Virus, H5N1 Avian Influenza, SARS, and the recent H1N1 Swine Influenza, Nathan figured that this scare would die down in a month or two once people found out that the danger wasn't really as terrible as everyone suspected.

In truth, Nathan was a little irritated with how scared some people were with this new flu. He had even seen a couple videos on YouTube where users had uploaded obviously fake material intended to terrify people. In some of the more fantastic clips, infected persons were able to leap huge distances through the air, survive barrages of bullets, or even ensnare a person with a ridiculously enlarged tongue of all things. It seemed bizarre that people would try to cause a panic by fabricating 'real' footage like this.

Internet trolls. That was all they were to Nathan. Immature trolls who didn't get the validation they needed in their daily lives so they tried to create a fuss online.

Trying to keep an open mind on the issue, Nathan had watched a fair share of the footage. Some of what he uncovered was within the realms of the possible. For instance, it was clear from actual scientific reports on the disease that it did indeed induce insanity in its victims. Those affected would be recognizable due to a loss of pigmentation in their hair, eyes, and skin. Characteristics included increased aggression towards the uninfected, which served as a good method to allow the illness to spread. As Nathan understood it, the exact means of transmission was not yet understood, but being bitten was a sure-fire way to contract Green Flu.

Cheerful at the thought of not having to go to his high-school for an as-of-yet unspecified number of days, Nathan got up from his seat in the kitchen to prepare breakfast for the household. If he wasn't going to class this morning, he wasn't going to have a rushed breakfast when he could prepare some perfectly good fresh waffles, bacon, and scrambled eggs.

He left the television on as he readied the meal for himself and his folks. There was no harm in a little background noise. Soon the smell of fresh waffles and bacon filled the house.

The anchorwoman continued to speak, "34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, and 43. Though as a whole school districts 42 and 75 are still open, the following secondary schools will also be closed: Garibaldi Secondary, Pitt Meadows Secondary, Maple Ridge Secondary, Westview Secondary, École Mission Secondary. All primary schools in district 42 will be closed, however in district 75 only Hatzic Elementary and Silverdale will remain open.

"And of course, the education isn't the only one experiencing problems as a result of Green Flu," she continued, "The Minister of Health issued this statement through a Mrs. Bernette M-"

There was a small click as the television was turned off.

"Why are you listening to this depressing stuff so early in the morning?" Mr. Weeds asked through a yawn. Using the cuff of his white bathrobe, he rubbed his eyes.

Nathan grinned, "The news wasn't depressing at all, there's no school today."

"Oh really?" Mr. Weeds asked skeptically, looking out the kitchen window. "Doesn't look like there's any snow."

"Green Flu," Nathan shrugged carelessly. "Also, I made breakfast."

"A bribe eh?" Mr. Weeds grinned, "I smell bacon, any waffles?"

Nathan huffed. "Yes, I'm making waffles. But I'm not bribing you, the schools are actually closed."

"Yeah well, we'll see how good the breakfast is, then I'll decide whether or not you can stay home from school today," Mr. Weeds teased.

"Dad…" Nathan groaned, "The school is closed."

Mr. Weeds just shook his head, a wide grin on his face. "Put a pot of coffee on, remember, two scoops sugar, bring the cream in with you."

"Bring it with me where?"

"I'm heading back to bed, bring in the meal for your mother and I once the coffee's ready, will you?" Mr. Weeds stretched sleepily and sauntered off back to the master bedroom.

"Dad, c'mon, why can't you just eat it out here," Nathan whined. "I don't want to carry those big trays to your room."

"Hey, don't make me send you to school today," Mr. Weeds warned, pointing back at Nathan over his shoulder. He entered his bedroom. Nathan heard his mother giggling about something down the hall.

"And clean up after yourself this time," he heard her add, "I want that kitchen to be as clean as it was before you started."

Nathan sighed as he headed to the closet to fish out the bed trays. He neatly arranged some silverware on the trays and put a hefty helping of food on his parent's plates.

He brought in his father's tray first, with a bottle of syrup and small plate of butter if he wanted it on the waffles. The smell of the tray of freshly cooked food had both adults stir from their lifelessness and quickly sit up to await the food, mouths watering.

Nathan placed the tray down in front of his father.

"Ladies first," Mrs. Weeds insisted. Smiling mischievously she lifted the tray from in front of her husband and placed it above her own lap. "Really Nathan, how do you expect to get a girlfriend when you always pay attention to the girls after the guys?"

"I dunno, I guess I'd prefer someone who was grateful to receive breakfast in bed instead of complaining that the service took too long," Nathan pointed out mockingly.

Nathan's dad chuckled.

With that remark, Nathan headed back into the kitchen for the second tray. He turned the television back on when he got there, hoping it might take a guess at how long schools would be closed for.

The morning news seemed to have turned to a different story about a decrease in wild animal activity, so Nathan just grabbed the tray and brought it to his father.

"Coffee?"

"You two are the most ungrateful parents ever," Nathan mock-scolded, "I make you bed in breakfast, and all you do is complain."

"Well maybe if you did it right we wouldn't have to complain," Mr. Weeds teased. "Just get the orange juice from the fridge or something. How about you throw together an apple pie or something for an after breakfast dessert? That could almost make me forget about the missing coffee. Almost."

"I'm not making you a pie for breakfast," Nathan laughed. "Enjoy your breakfast."

Nathan left his parents' bedroom to enjoy his own breakfast in the kitchen while watching a story about the Abbotsford airport that was currently airing.

**Professor of Psychology Murray Scott**

A professor of psychology at University of the Fraser Valley, Murray Scott waited impatiently in the terminal at Abbotsford International Airport. With mixed feelings he awaited the arrival of his daughter, who he had not seen in nearly twelve years, ever since he had been diagnosed with schizophrenia. He had been deemed unfit to fulfill the role of a parent due to the severity of the mental disorder, and she had been sent away to parts unknown.

It was complete bullshit, in Murray's opinion.

He might have schizophrenia, but for the last twelve years he had been taking his medication as instructed, and in the last ten years he had only had a single episode. Regardless, there was no way he'd allow himself to put his (at the time) six year-old Elizabeth in harm's way.

Murray was very anxious to see little Lizzy again. He might not even be able to recognize her, he realized, and she might not recognize him. He was wearing a sign with her name on it, just in case, but it didn't stop him from worrying that she might change her mind about coming out at all. She would be seventeen by now, going on eighteen; she was almost a grown woman, not the same little girl that had been taken from him all those years ago.

Still, he was thrilled for the chance to see her again. He wanted to apologize for letting them take her away. He wanted to see his little girl's bright smile again. He wanted to hold her again.

But what if she wasn't coming?

Murray had to push that though out of his mind. She would be here. They had talked about it over the phone, and her fake parents, the Browns, had agreed. They said it would be nice if she had the chance to meet her biological father.

Biological father. That wasn't all Murray was. Murray was Elizabeth's real father.

Those Brown's could profess to be the ones that had raised her all they wanted, Murray knew that he cared more about his little girl than any parents that were only keeping her around because the government paid them a monthly stipend. And after all the care they claimed to have for Elizabeth, it was Murray who had been the one to pay for the flight.

The flight that should have arrived over thirty minutes ago.

Murray grumbled quietly, "Where is that plane?"  
As if right on cue, a voice over the speakers announced, "Passenger boarding Virgin Pacific flight 23 to Kamloops or picking up passengers from flight 22 from Kamloops can expect a delay."

A delay? Why? Murray couldn't help but become concerned.  
The weather was clear, hardly a cloud in the sky, so that couldn't be the issue. Was there a problem when they fueled the plane? Had maintenance done a bad job on the aircraft? Could it have been sabotaged? Possibly even a terrorist hijacking?

It was probably nothing, Murray realized foolishly.

He would just have to wait for another ten, maybe twenty minutes, and then the plane would arrive. He would be able to see his daughter, as planned. He wished he had a newspaper or something.

Murray pulled himself from the uncomfortable plastic seating and headed over to the nearby café in the terminal for a cup of coffee. He kept an eye on the large electronic board that listed arrivals and departures in the hopes that it might somehow make the plane land sooner.

After snacking on a blueberry muffin and finishing his double-double, the professor saw that the flight had still not arrived.

I should have known better than to book with Virgin Pacific, Murray mentally scolded himself. Next time, if there was a next time, he would definitely choose WestJet or Air Canada. Though Murray had never travelled by air himself, he couldn't help but feel that the mistake in booking was his fault.

From the café, he spotted a camera crew in the parking lot, making their way into the terminal. Suddenly, he was again focused on what could be going wrong with Lizzy's flight.

"Jesus, don't let it be terrorists," he groaned to himself.

Murray was not a religious man; he had given that up after the death of his wife, his diagnosis with schizophrenia, and the 'kidnapping' of his daughter. Still, it didn't stop him from using the name of the son of god or the heavenly father in vain whenever things were going wrong.

On the electronic board for arrivals, the word DELAYED next to Virgin Pacific flight 22 was replaced with CANCELLED.

A woman's voice issued from some of the electronic equipment that the news crew had brought in with them. It said, "We're going live to the location where Thomas Carson has the story, Tom?"  
Distressed, Murray tried his best to eavesdrop on the crew. It certainly wasn't hard, considering the young male reporter spoke in a clear voice for the benefit of the audience at home.  
"Thanks Sophie. Flying is supposed to be the safest form of travel, but clearly no form of transportation is without its risks. I'm standing here at Abbotsford International Airport, where families and friends of those travelling aboard flight twenty-two are worried for the fate of their loved ones," the man began.

The hair on Murray's arms stood on end and his muscles tensed.

Now genuinely frightened for his daughter's safety, Murray wondered what was happening on that plane.

The reporter continued seriously, "No more than half an hour ago our sources indicate that an air marshal aboard the flight was forced to intervene in a confrontation aboard the aircraft when a young woman allegedly affected by the deadly Green Flu pathogen began assaulting the passengers seated next to her. As a result of the threat of infection aboard the plane, authorities have ordered that the plane not be allowed to land on the airstrip. However, authorities have also denied it the option of returning to Kamloops, so right now the situation is causing no end of concern for many of the people in the airport."  
"Wow, it really sounds like things are up in the air over there," Sophie's voice came through some of the equipment again.  
"Absolutely Sophie," the reporter replied, "Whether or not the plane is able to land safely is scary enough for those waiting here. But to add the worry that passengers aboard the flight could contract this disease is almost more than some can bear."  
"We can only hope that the people on there all make it home safely. Thanks Tom, we'll be checking back with you within the hour," she said finally.

The cameraman gestured a thumbs up to the reporter, and switched off the camera.

"So, you wanna get a couple'a interviews?" he asked gruffly.

"We can take a quick coffee break in the meantime," Thomas the reporter shrugged. "We still have all that Green Flu warning information from the BCCDC."

"Well who knows how long the plane is gonna be up there for," the cameraman pointed out. "Folks ain't gonna be so much worried about their loved ones as mournin' if you wait until after it crashes to interview 'em."

Thomas nodded, "Fine, point taken."

Murray couldn't stand hearing them talk so casually about the lives of people aboard the plane. He headed over to the reporter angrily.  
"What makes you think the plane is going to crash?" Murray questioned.

Thomas looked over at the aging man who had marched up to him. "Well sir it's obvious, isn't it?" he said plainly, "They ordered the plane not land because that virus or whatever it is is dangerous."

"Real contagiouslike," the cameraman agreed.

"Once those pilots get it, they're going to start suffering the symptoms. Like impaired brain fuction, insanity, aggression. They aren't going to be able to fly the thing while attacking each other."

**Constable Barbara Van Buren**

Doughnut in one hand and steaming double-double in the other, Constable Barbara Van Buren was somewhat disappointed that they'd arrived at the site of the reported burglary, as she hadn't had time for a proper breakfast today, on account of having to drop her younger sister off at the airport.

"Alright, let's get this B and E over quickly, I don't want my coffee getting cold," Barbara told her partner.

Howard grinned next to her, "Well, 'm sure if you tell the perps that they'll just give up right away, eh. Nobody deserves to drink cold coffee."  
There wasn't really anything remarkable about Special Constable Thunder, as far as Barbara could tell, he was as skilled as any other officer in the Chilliwack area (possibly less so). The 'Special' in his title came solely from his ability to speak Halkomelen and Salish. Though Barbara had never actually seen him have to use the skill before, she had heard him complain about being called when off-duty once or twice. His physique was also not something he had to brag about. In the five years they had been working together, he had grown steadily heavier. If she had to guess, Barbara would say that the 5'11" man was getting on 230 pounds. Even his short black hair was rarely neat; Howard seemed to think that the hat would just cover that up.

Barbara always ensured her RCMP uniform was spotless before heading into work. Unless something unavoidable occurred, it would remain spotless at the end of the day. Her blond hair was tied back into a bun. Unlike some of the other ladies on the force, Barbara tried to keep the amount of makeup she wore to a minimum, enough to make her look presentable, but nothing she couldn't apply quickly.

In Barbara's mind, she was easily the better cop of the two of them. When she told someone to do something, they'd do it instead of arguing. With Howard, they seemed to sense his natural friendliness and weren't always as compliant. Barbara didn't have any issue with Howard being a friendly guy, but it irritated her to no end when people didn't take them seriously because they thought they could just deal with the nice man and ignore the women.

She recalled one time when a suspicious man had ignored her entirely, even going so far as to say, "Hey lady, can you wait until the men are done talking?"  
Of course, this cop wasn't going to take that lying down. She had promptly taken him into custody (as they had only been talking to him in the first place because of complaints about a suspicious character in the neighbourhood) and refused to even tell him what the charges were or read him his rights. She let her friendly partner take care of those details. He struggled all the way, and Barbara had to admit later that she might have overreacted when she 'accidentally' knocked his head against the car while forcing him into the back of the cruiser. Later she had to apologize to the inspector, but he assured her it was fine as no one else had commented on the arrest.

Noticing his distracted partner, Howard asked, "Well, what' we waiting for? We' been here for almost a minute already,"

Barbara's attention returned to the job at hand. Not normally one to drift off in thought, she quickly mumbled an apology and stepped out of the squad car.

"Don't worry about it," Howard told her, "Just focus on the job at hand."

Barbara raised an eyebrow. With a hint of annoyance she asked, "Are you telling me how to do my job again?"

"Wouldn't dream of it Barb," Howard quickly replied. He liked having the attractive woman as a partner, but she could turn awfully moody when she thought people were being disrespectful. Howard did his best to keep on her good side.

"Let's get this show on the road then," Barbara said smugly, leading the way towards the decrepit building that someone had supposedly broken into.

It used to be a grocery store. Located only a short walk from the town bus exchange made the building a convenient shelter for the homeless when temperatures started to drop. Considering it was mid-October, the calls reporting break-ins were sure to start coming in any day now.

The entire front of the building had its ground level windows and doors covered by sheets of plywood. Still, there were a few intact windows above the plywood, visible beneath the gull-wing style roof. None of the windows appeared to be broken. And none of the plywood was loose or out of place.

Barbara caught Howards attention and cocked her head to the side, as if to say, "Let's check out back".

If there were trespassers, they must have gone in through the rear entrances. Nothing out front showed any signs of being recently tampered with. Sure enough, a pair of double doors seemed to have been pried open. Making it more obvious that someone was using the abandoned structure was the cheap bike lock holding the doors shut, and a cardboard box blocking the door that read Danger, Keep Out.

"A cardboard box, a security guard is not," Barbara grinned, sliding the box out of the way with her boot. To Howard she added, "Grab the bolt cutters from the car. I'd do it myself, but you need the exercise."

With a look of exasperation, Howard reluctantly headed back around front to retrieve the equipment.

Barbara pulled the doors as far apart as she could with the lock still on them. The doors only parted about two inches; still it might give her a better view of the interior. She peered through the narrow opening to see if there was anything of interest.

It was dimly lit inside, but there was clearly a fire of some sort burning somewhere out of sight. She could hear something crackling gently, and smell the faint smokiness of the room. Whoever was staying here was pretty reckless to leave a fire burning like this. Unattended it was a huge fire hazard. Then again, there could always be someone left locked inside to keep an eye on the hideout.

Judging by the lock and sign right beside Barbara, whoever was here wasn't used to squatting. Normally they would try to avoid bringing attention to themselves. With any luck, Barbara would at least be able to catch one trespasser here.

Constable Thunder returned with the tool to cut the improvised lock. In one quick motion, the bike lock fell away from the door's handles.

Barbara led the way inside.

With the doors wide open, sunlight streamed into the building.

"Something's wrong here," Howard stated, "Real wrong."

Barbara followed his gaze and saw a pile of clothing in the corner. But it wasn't just clothes. They were bodies. Because the skin had turned a sick gray colour, she hadn't been able to identify them right away. At a glance, it looked like there were maybe five of them. Four looked like they were probably homeless; they wore heavy materials and had faded clothing. The other was young lady, possibly still a teenager, and was wearing designer clothing. They all looked like they had been beaten to death.

Barbara put a hand over her mouth and stepped back, horrified. She tried to figure out what had happened to these people.

Her partner was quicker to react. He grabbed his radio and requested a homicide team.

Barbara could barely understand what he was saying. All she could focus on was the mound of bodies in front of her. Who did this? Why? Chilliwack wasn't the safest of cities, but she never expected something messed up like this to happen.

"Have to wait here for a couple hours," Howard explained, "Sounds like they're busy tonight."

Barbara looked at him worriedly. With more than a hint of concern she asked, "More like this?"

"I don't know."

**Faarooq Malik, Veterinary Student and Part-time Cashier  
**

Walter Malik was adamant that the Green Flu would cause widespread destruction. Since the initial reports in late September, he urged his relatives to start wearing facemasks and medical gloves whenever they left the house. He made sure that all his friends and family were aware of the danger it posed. For the last forty years he had worked as a specialist in infectious diseases, so for the most part, people took his warning seriously.

But Walter knew that information would not be enough to fight the threat of this new infection. They needed shelter, and they needed food, and they needed guns. One night, Walter informed his eldest daughter's family that he would be making some upgrades to the service station the family owned and operated.

Walter's reasoning had been, "If Green Flu made it to this part of the world, at least they'd have a chance of surviving."

His daughter and son-in-law weren't thrilled at the prospect, but since the deed was in Walter's name they couldn't exactly refuse. Besides, he would be funding all the upgrades himself.

Faarooq, one of Walter's grandsons, had been worried more about his grandfather's mental health than any germ that might be floating around. The news that he was converting the gas station into some kind of pseudo bomb shelter came as more of a concern than a comfort.

Faarooq still had to work while his grandfather made the improvements. Since the gas station was along the highway with only a few other stops on it, many customers were irritated when Faarooq told them that the washrooms were unavailable.

"Look, my little girl will only be a minute," a father requested politely.

Sympathetically, Faarooq replied, "I'm sorry sir, but we're renovating back there, the toilets aren't working."

"That's bullshit," the man said, crossing his arms. All traces of civility gone.

"If you're heading that way then you should come across a café just on the other side of the tunnel," Faarooq informed him, pointing down the road, "By car, it shouldn't take more than a minute."

"Fine. Thanks for nothing," the man growled. He grabbed his daughter's wrist and led her out of the store.

Seeing no other customers in front of the gas station, Faarooq opened up his notebook computer and began playing Portal. Playing a video game was a lot more enjoyable than listening to his grandfather preach about the end of the world. But in the long run, reviewing his notes from school would probably do more good. After all, if the world wasn't going to come to an end, he would very much like to graduate from university with his degree in veterinary science. He doubted his professor would give him leniency on a missed assignment because his crazy grandfather expected some flu to wipe out the world.

As much as he knew he should be working on his schooling, Faarooq decided that a few more minutes of playing portal couldn't hurt. After all, it was a puzzle game. So it wasn't like he was completely ignoring academic pursuits.

As if reading his mind, the senior Malik poked his head out from the washroom and asked, "Faarooq?"

"Yes grandfather?"

"Faarooq," the elder repeated, "Do you have something more productive you could be working on?"

"Yes grandfather," Faarooq said simply.

He closed the monitor and took out one of his inordinately costly textbooks. He supposed chapter three wasn't going to read itself.

He felt a little jealous for the youngsters that were still in high school. At least the flu was giving them an excuse to get out of class. University students didn't get that luxury.

"I was hoping you might be able to help me back here, since you don't appear to have any customers right now," Walter suggested.

"What do you need?" Faarooq asked, somewhat curious to see what exactly was consuming his grandfather's attentions.

He headed into the back of the store, where the men's restroom used to be located. A section of the wall had been knocked out, and a large red steel door with an iron barred window was in its place. Another slab of red steel was leaning against the wall behind some boxes. Faarooq found it interesting that his grandfather seemed to have decorated both the metal doors with caution tape.

"These doors are kind of colourful," Faarooq noted, "What's the point of having a secret hideout for the family if anyone who passes by the store is going to spot it?"

"It's not just for the family," Walter explained, "I want anybody who's alive to be able to find safety, since it's likely that not many folks will survive."

"Gloomy," Faarooq replied cheerfully.

"It is," Walter reprimanded. "You might think your old granddad has gotten crazy as a loon, but you'll be thanking me when this business is over. You shouldn't take this so lightly boy."

The younger Malik noticed the steel bar sealing the door that was already built. He also spotted a large lock on the door next to be installed. An oversized key with a floating device attached to it sat on a nearby crate. The tiny floating device and key matched the red steel doors.

Faarooq just had to ask, "If you want the room to be a sanctuary for anybody, then how come you made yourself that key?"

"I might want folks to find safety here, but I'd much prefer it if I could choose just what kind of folks those were. Who knows what kind of thugs might be trying to strong-arm their way to survival. Anyway, stop distracting me and hold up this shelf so I can drill it onto the wall."

As he was told, Faarooq held the shelf in place so Walter could secure it.

Before he could admire the (relatively insignificant) accomplishment, Faarooq was distracted by a call from the counter.

"Hey, could I get some service here?"

Faarooq hadn't even heard they bell ring when they entered the store.

"Sorry," Faarooq apologized insincerely, seeing the scowling young men behind the register, "I was just helping my grandfather in the back."

"Whatever Paki, I just want to pay for my shit and go. I don't care what you and your grandpa were doing in the washroom together," the one nearest the counter said condescendingly.

"Actually, my family is from India," Faarooq said blankly. After a moment of considering the two men, he realized they were likely no older than eighteen. Like many teenagers from this age, they seemed taken with the hip-hop fashion trend. Both wore long t-shirts, had their pants hanging a little too low, and seemed incapable of wearing their baseballs caps properly. Each had a chain and pendant around their neck. Neither of their clothes matched in any way, so Faarooq felt it was safe to assume that they were just immature kids instead of gang members.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"What the fuck did you say?" the other boy questioned.

"I asked how old you were," Faarooq verified unhappily.

"Why the hell should I tell you, cabdriver?" the first challenged.

Holding back the urge to smack the man upside the head, he replied, "I was just asking because you seem a little old to be shoplifting. The way I see it, we can resolve this two ways."

Unconsciously both of them moved their hands to cover their pockets.

"You can just return the items and apologize, or I can call the police."


End file.
